


Interlude XII

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [110]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Heaven, M/M, Timelines, musings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Musings by a bald man, and bad situations can always get worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nirelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nirelian/gifts).



_[Begin narration by Inspector Victor Henriksen]_

A lot of the lads at the stations where I worked looked down their noses at the idea of bringing a consulting detective onto a case, and I always believed that my bosses would have taken the same attitude had Mr. Sherlock Holmes' great brain not wrought so many successes for which, showing a greatness of heart that was typical of the man, he allowed me to take the credit for. It also helped that he always seemed to choose landladies who baked the most excellent and delicious cakes!

My youngest son Veryan grew up to become an engineer, and to obtain a well-paid post on the Midland Railway. I owed that, as with so much in my life, to my good friend; he had used his connections to secure Veryan an interview with the railway company, based presumably on some matter he had resolved for them in the past. He was always considerate like that; indeed, some years later he would come through for me in my darkest hour as a peeler.

Like myself, Veryan's skin colour betrays his mixed-race ancestry which, even in a cosmopolitan place like London Town can set a fellow back if he is not careful. I was, I suppose, fortunate that my first boss in the service was Mr. Fraser Macdonald, a man who discriminated equally against all humanity, which he seemed to detest with a passion. Holmes helped me out on a couple of cases to assist him, and I know that it was a combination of The Donald's recommendation and Holmes' solving the Crooked Man case and then allowing me to take the credit which last year had seen me promoted to inspector. Perhaps fortunately, the great detective did not hate humanity in the way my old superior did, but instead viewed it with a sort of detached curiosity, rather like a scientist peering at it through a magnifying glass.

I mention Veryan because something he told me about his job stuck in my mind as relevant to Holmes, and in particular, his 'friend' Doctor Watson. I would have been no detective at all had I not seen that these two gentlemen had something rather more than just 'friendship', and I knew that the detective had been angered more than once by newspapers who had dismissed the doctor as 'merely a cipher'. I think that Watson was rather like one of those safety valves Veryan once pointed out to me on the top of locomotives. Small and unnoticed against the gleaming engine, perhaps, but without it, the whole thing runs the risk of exploding when there is too much pressure. That, in my eyes, was the role that Watson played to his 'friend'; keeping him grounded and reminding him that humanity had a righteous side to it. Otherwise Holmes may well have ended up as The Donald, Part Two - a terrible thought!

At this time in their lives together – not that they were, as my good lady wife insisted on believing, 'together together' – Holmes and Watson were facing a rising threat, one which would eventually come close to destroying the great detective. One did not work amongst criminals without knowing when something big was going down, and that was what I felt around this time. I was, regrettably for once, all too right.

_[End narration by Inspector Victor Henriksen]_


	2. Chapter 2

As a Supreme Being, God should really have known that there were few things more likely to bring disaster than thinking matters could not possibly be worse. But all attempts to extricate His errant secretary (who was so going to Hell after this) had thus far proved fruitless, the bastard having evidently planned for just such counter-moves before his disappearance. So God could have been excused for swea.... saying 'flip' a lot, and banging the desk in frustration.

That was 3.261703 seconds (approximately) before Lucifer called on what he insisted on terming 'the Hot Line' (worse, the wife had found the name amusing, and had insisted on a small plaque being made). God tried to ignore the flaming letters (also Her idea) as He answered the call.

“Sorry to make your day worse”, the devil said cheerily.

“But you are about to”, God sighed. “What is it?”

“Crowley has disappeared.”

“And that is a _bad_ thing?” God said dryly. Crowley was a middle-ranking demon, but with the sort of sneaky talent that made those above him in the food chain start listing all the ways that he could meet an untimely end. Which, being Hell, was a list that took some considerable time to put together.

His second son's silence was ominous, and even at this distance, God just _knew_.

“Please no!” He groaned.

“The same time-runes as Metatron”, Lucifer said. “Probably with even better back-up. Three guesses as to where he's gone.”

“How can this be wo....” God stopped himself just in time.

“We'll soon see”, His son said cheerily. “Gotta go; there's about to be a major fire at a lawyers' convention in Chicago. Love you, daddykins!”


End file.
